Palpatine
beamed,
looking at peace with the universe. "It's not so surprising, is it, my
dear? You are the perfect choice."

This absolutely
could not be happening. "What makes me so perfect?" Leia challenged.

"Your power.
Your
strength.The fact that you have daring enough to use them.That you are
willing
to learn.That you can think for yourself, and do not allow your hands
to be
tied by faded, outmoded doctrines." Palpatine steepled his hands
together
in front of him, and his eyes gleamed as he looked at her.
"Moreover," he went on, "you have grown up in the world of
government. You were trained as a princess, and know the
responsibilities of a
ruler. You will not shy away from your duties.And, you have many
followers
across the galaxy. People who trust you, who believe in you. With you
as heir,
perhaps they may also come to believe in the Empire."

She backed away
from him a few steps, and whispered, wonderingly, "you are so insane. I
never realised until right now how insane you are." He started to speak
again, but she cut him off. "And don't tell me about the fine line
between
insanity and genius, I don't want to hear it."

Palpatine
seemed
unoffended. He said, "is there anything insane about wanting an heir
worthy of one's achievements? Even I won't live forever.Must I die
knowing that
my Empire will disintegrate with my body, its greatness leached away by
incompetents and fools, until it is barely a memory?"

Leia thought, my
heart is not bleeding for you, Your Majesty.She said, "if
a
government can't survive without the person who created it, it's not
worthy of
surviving."

"Ah, but I
don't mean it must survive unchanged. Of course not. You will put your
personal
stamp on the Empire, Leia, just as I have.Think of it, my dear. Here is
your
chance. The best chance you will ever have. Your chance to rebuild the
galaxy
in the form you know it should have, to put your ideals into practice.
What is
the most you could hope for if your pitiful Rebellion were ever to
triumph? A
seat in the new senate, I suppose. A lifetime arguing with other
politicians
and never seeing anything that you believe in accomplished. I am
offering you
the chance to make a difference, Leia Organa.The chance to put the
galaxy on a
new path.Your path."

Leia eyed him
with
loathing. She asked, "Palpatine, how stupid do you think I am?"

"My
dear?" he inquired mildly.

"You've got
decades left, probably. Unless your heir assassinates you. And while
I'm
waiting till I can put the galaxy on its 'new path', you'll still be in
charge,
and the galaxy will still be as fucked up as always! And I'll have sold
out,
and no decent person will trust me again. And by the time you finally
kick the
bucket, you figure I'll have been your 'apprentice' for so long that
I'll be
just like you. And you'll keep ruling, through me."

"You're
wrong," Palpatine told her. "I would never want an heir who couldn't
maintain her own integrity. Leia," he went on earnestly, sounding for
the
moment as sane as anyone else, "don't let yourself be trapped by your
prejudices. Yes, you are right, you would lose the trust of some who
thought
you had betrayed them. But such fools will never be of any real use to
you.Those with the intelligence and understanding to matter in this
universe
will know that you made the best choice possible, the only
choice.Instead of
fighting to the end for a doomed Rebellion, you will have taken a first
step to
reunify the galaxy, to put us back on the road to peace."

Oh, he was good
at
this, Leia admitted ruefully. He knew everything to say that would
strike a
responsive chord. Of course she knew that he was talking bollocks, but
that
still didn't change the fact that when he said it, it seemed to make
sense.Dragging her mind out of Palpatine's fantasy-spinning and back
into the present,
she said, "never mind the road to peace. What about
Luke?•À* And our
father?"

Palpatine
answered,
"I will adopt Luke as well.I would never wish anything to separate the
two
of you. I will help you find a way to heal him. He will be safe, Leia.
And your
children will be safe. I would never hurt a member of my family."

She laughed
bitterly. "Give me one reason to believe that."

"Because it's
true," he said softly. "Ask my children. They're alive and well. You
can contact them if you wish, then you'll see that I have never harmed
them." The Emperor chuckled. "I have never even done anything to hurt
my ex-wife. How many men can say that?"

This was too
surreal. Leia vaguely remembered knowing at one point that Palpatine
had been
married, and divorced before he became Emperor. Maybe she'd even known
that
there were kids. But she'd never expected to hear him talk about them.
She
wondered whether he had albums of family holo-snaps. Did he still send
his
children cards on their birthdays? Leia asked, "If your children are
alive
and well, why do you need another heir? Hand your Empire over to them."

A peculiar
expression crossed Palpatine's face. "If you knew them, you would not
ask
that," Palpatine said. "They ... lack the fire to rule." He
shook his head. "One is a librarian and the other runs a veterinary
clinic. You can see, I think, why I do not choose to place the Empire
in their
hands."

I
don't know, thought Leia,
I'm sure the librarian and the vet would do a better job of ruling the
galaxy
than you do! She said impatiently, "you say Luke will be
safe. What about
Vader?"

"Ah,"
said the Emperor. "That is more difficult. You do understand, my dear,
Lord Vader is a traitor. He has shaken the Empire to its foundations. I
cannot
allow him to go free, to threaten us again. Unless," he mused, "he
could be brought back to us. Perhaps if you could convince him to join
us, to
come back again to the service that he betrayed ... yes, then there
might be a
chance."

He's
lying, Leia thought. She
didn't know how, but somehow she could sense the wrongness of what he
was
saying. He would never do it. Vader would never be forgiven.

But, what
choice
did she have? Saying no to Palpatine wouldn't get her anywhere. Saying
yes,
however, might at least buy her some time. Time to find a way to get
her family
out of this madness.

She looked at
the
Emperor steadily, and said, "very well ... my Master. I accept."

Mon Mothma
frowned
at the images on the security video that was rewinding silently in
front of her,
on her office computer screen.She felt vaguely perverted. The last few
hours of
staring at these vids had been far too voyeuristic for her liking. She
wondered
about the officers whose job it was to watch videos like this, and keep
tabs on
everyone. Did they manage to stay sane? Did they keep a grip on their
own
lives, or did their lives start to revolve around just watching other
people?

Of course, some
might say that Imperial officers weren't sane anyway, or they wouldn't
be
working for the Empire. That was not a point of view which she could
endorse --
not any more.

She sighed.
Mothma
and Commander Antilles had decided that she -- in her copious free time
--
would begin watching the security vids that covered Piett's office on
the Executor
and
the corridor outside it, looking for evidence of either the security
camera
being tampered with to provide a view of Piett's access code, or of
anyone
gaining unauthorised access to his office. Of course, the really useful
thing
would be to have equivalent videos for Piett's office here at the base,
but as
Captain Bailey had pointed out at the review of Piett's case, such
surveillance
techniques were not among the Rebellion's policies. Mon Mothma admitted
ruefully to herself that they probably wouldn't have been able to
afford that
many cameras, even if there wasn't a moral problem with the concept.

She had been
watching the videos backwards, from just before the time at which the
incriminating message had been sent. She had the vids for the entire
year since
the Treaty of Endor and the birth of the New Alliance. The
Executor's security chief
had told her that the security vids still existed for the years before
that as
well, back to the Executor's
commissioning five years ago. She devoutly hoped
that her search would not take her back that far. Surely their famous
traitor
would only have started contemplating treachery after Vader and Co. had
turned
against the Empire. Or was even that too much of an assumption to make?
It
probably was, she supposed. For all they knew this could be some random
double
agent they were dealing with, or a special agent of the Emperor whose
job had
always been to spy on the rest of Imperial Security.

So far, no
evidence
of foul play had leaped out at her. Everything seemed boringly routine.
It was
rather weird, she had to admit, to be watching Piett at work in his
office. But
long years of knowing that he was working under surveillance must have
taught
him not to do anything that he'd be embarrassed for Imperial Security
to see.
He sat at the computer, he read reports, he sent letters, he drank
coffee, and
every now and then he talked with the occasional visitor to his office.
So far,
said visitors had been his executive officer Captain Griffith;
Commander
Caspren, the Chief of Security from whom Mothma had gotten these
videos; Wedge
Antilles; Captain Needa; and various officers of the Executor, identified at
their first appearance as the security cams analyzed their features,
compared
them with the crew database, and provided a caption of their name and
rank at
the bottom of the video image. And once, Piett's office had been graced
by a
visit from Darth Vader. Mon Mothma had paid strict attention to the
actions of
every visitor to the office, but thus far none of them seemed to be
taking any
undue interest in Piett's computer.

She hoped that
the
other alleged investigators were having more luck than she was. Wedge
Antilles
had started going through the past year's records of the base's power
output,
in the search for previous treacherous messages. After some debate,
Mothma had
agreed with Antilles' suggestion that they should enlist a few more
people to
help in sifting through the masses of records. Otherwise, as Wedge had
pointed
out, Admiral Piett would be eligible for retirement before they managed
to
clear him.

Mon Mothma
still
wasn't too happy at bringing in anyone else. She couldn't stop herself
from
thinking that in a situation like this, they really couldn't trust
anyone.

But of course,
if
that were so, then she couldn't trust Wedge either. And he couldn't
trust her.

The other
investigators Antilles had dragged into this were all fellow pilots of
his.
There were three of them, his friends, whose discretion he swore he
could vouch
for. As she watched a particularly boring stretch of security vid, Mon
Mothma
tried to remember their names. One was a young woman, whom Mothma was
sure she
had noticed before, as females in the Rebellion these days were few and
far
between. This woman, whose name was completely escaping Mon Mothma, had
seemed
ridiculously young. Mothma could hardly believe that she was old enough
to be
out of school, let alone piloting x-wings. Gods, Mothma
thought, surely I
never looked
that young? Another of Wedge's recruits, who seemed from
their body language to be
the young woman's Significant Other, looked just as distressingly
youthful, a
tall, gangly kid with a nice smile and innocent brown eyes. Damn it,
Mothma
couldn't remember his name, either. She did remember the third one,
because
Commander Mittri Cawelti was just the kind of person that one
remembered. She'd
always thought that he looked like a model; Incom ought to use him in
their
x-wing advertisements, posing in front of his ship looking dramatic and
moody.
He was dark, tall and hard-featured, with a mouth that seemed expressly
designed for sneering. Although she had to admit that he hadn't been
sneering
when Wedge introduced him to her, and they discussed the investigation.
He'd
seemed perfectly sincere, and willing to help. As had the little girl
and her
boyfriend.

Mothma sighed,
again. Cawelti and the other two seemed to be as
trustworthy as
Antilles said they were. She was just going to have to accept that they
were,
and stop worrying.

It didn't help,
of
course, that she felt uneasy about carrying out this investigation at
all. It
clearly wasn't appropriate behaviour for the Alliance's Head of State,
and she
knew it. If Dodonna or Rieekan or any of the other Alliance Leaders
found out
about it, the embarrassment was going to be hideous. She could just
hear the regretful,
schoolmaster-ish tone that would come into Dodonna's voice, as he
remarked that
he had expected more responsible behaviour from her. Trying to
investigate
Piett's case herself was the kind of seat-of-one's-pants, would-be
heroic
behaviour one would expect from wild cards like Calrissian, or Solo, or
Luke
Skywalker. Not from Mon Mothma, the staid and respectable Head of State.

She smiled
thinly.
Maybe hanging out with x-wing pilots was corrupting her. She ought to
be
letting the security people handle this, like a good little bureaucrat,
and
instead here she was, playing detective with Antilles and Cawelti and
the teen
Rebels.

The entry bell
sounded at the door to her office, and Mothma's heart jolted guiltily.
Damnation, she felt like a schoolkid who'd been caught reading a dirty
novel.
Irritated at her own reaction, she switched off the security vid, and
pressed
the button which opened the door.

General Veers
stepped into the office.

Oh,
brilliant, Mon Mothma
thought. If there was anyone whose presence was calculated to make her
feel
even more like a delinquent child than she did already, this was that
man.
Mothma ordered her face into blank neutrality, reflecting that General
Veers
could make even Lord Vader seem laid back and accessible.

"Ma'am," Veers
said. "Can you spare a few minutes?"

"Of course,
General. Will you sit down?"

Veers accepted
the
proffered seat. When he was seated across the desk from her, he said,
"I
have concerns of which I feel you should be informed."

"Yes?"

"Commander
Caspren tells me that you asked him for the security videos of Admiral
Piett's
office."

No point in
denying
it, she supposed. She met his gaze and said calmly, "yes, I did."

"You're
looking into his case," Veers said.

"I am."

A tiny frown
drew his
eyebrows closer together, and his mouth closed more tightly. Mon Mothma
wondered whether Veers ever approved of anyone. The General said, "I
don't
need to tell you, Ma'am, that this isn't your job. The security teams
are here
for a reason. With respect, perhaps you should focus on your own duties
and let
them take care of theirs."

"Perhaps I
should," Mothma said coldly. "Are you going to report me,
General?"

"To
whom?" Veers inquired. "Shall I inform on you to Dodonna so that he
can slap your wrist?"

Humour, she thought. Good
gods, was that humour? Is Veers capable of that?

The General
continued, "I was simply hoping that you might reconsider your actions.
You're not trained to carry out this investigation, the security
personnel
are.And their own work might be hampered by the involvement of ...
amateurs."

Gods, he was
supercilious. Her mood was not improved by the fact that he was
probably right.
She said, "General, the Rebellion hasn't been able to specialise as
much
as the Imperial Forces. Each of us has to be prepared to deal with any
emergency."

"I'm prepared
to do what's needed," she said stubbornly. And I need to do
something
to help Piett, or I'm going to lose my mind.

Veers was
eyeing
her measuringly, and she had an uncomfortable feeling that he knew
exactly what
she was thinking. He must have had at least some inkling, because he
said now,
"I am sure the Admiral will appreciate your concern for him.But you
should
consider that your investigation may not be doing him any good. At any
rate,
there are other issues regarding the Admiral's situation of which you
should be
aware."

"Such
as?"

Veers permitted
himself a slight grimace. Whatever he was about to say, he found it
distasteful. He paused, then said, seeming irritated at having to
discuss this,
"I am concerned about ... the mood of the men. Specifically, the former
Imperial troops."

"Their
mood?"

"Yes. There is
some unrest. Tension between former Imperials and more longstanding
Rebels.
Already several fights have broken out, within the past day. They have
been
only scuffles so far, with no casualties, but it isn't likely to remain
at that
level. There hasn't been this amount of tension between our people
since the
first month of the New Alliance."

Mothma frowned.
"What do you think is causing it?"

"They're
worried for Piett. There's talk that he's been framed. There have even,
Ma'am,
been rumours that his illness is part of a plot, and that he was
poisoned."

"What!"

"It shouldn't
be a surprise. Our troops have been allies for a year, but enemies for
most of
their lives. It's easy for them to believe the worst. Especially when
someone
they care about is threatened."

Mothma looked
at
him questioningly, and Veers continued, "Ma'am, Admiral Piett is a
popular
figure. The men respect him, and sympathise with him." A smile twitched
at
Veers' mouth. "Every Imperial soldier's nightmare has been to have Lord
Vader breathing down his neck. The Admiral has lived that nightmare,
and that
has earned him the affection of the men. I believe they see him as ...
something of a good luck charm. The general opinion is that anyone who
survives
as long as Piett has in close proximity to Vader, must have the luck of
the
gods. There's a risk that if Piett's luck has run out, the men will
believe
that so has their own. An attack on Piett is an attack on them."

Mon Mothma
stared
at the General, not quite able to believe that he was talking about
Piett like
this. Admiral Piett, the good luck charm! She wondered if Piett knew of
his
adoption as the mascot of the armed forces. Forcing her mind out of its
speculations, she said, "I can make an announcement to all personnel,
explaining the nature of Piett's illness and giving an update on his
progress
..."

Veers nodded,
but
his tone was dismissive as he replied, "yes, of course you should do
that.
But it won't make much difference to the people who are our real
problem.
They'll assume it's a cover-up. You'd make exactly the same
announcement if he had been poisoned,
and
there was a plot against the former Imperials." His almost-smile again
appeared briefly, and he added, "in the Empire, conspiracy theories are
easy to believe."

I'm
not
surprised, Mon Mothma thought. She said, "all right,
then, General. What do
you suggest we do?" Guiltily, she realised that she expected him to say
something intolerable, such as suggesting that any soldiers who
complained
should be summarily executed.

Veers shrugged.
"There's always the traditional method. Diffuse tension at home by
seeking
out a foreign war. In our position, we shouldn't have to look far to
find
one."

She thought
about
that. It was certainly true enough that they were never short of
enemies. At the
recent command-level meetings they had been discussing the question of
what
their next priorities should be, where they should send troops next.
They could
easily find someone to attack, and hope the shared danger would remind
their
forces that they were on the same side.

But, should they? It had
always been one of the greatest problems of planning the Rebellion's
strategy,
to keep the balance between aggression and defence, and determine how
and when
they should strike for maximum effect. They couldn't let themselves be
pushed
into making a premature attack now, just because some of their troops
were
grumbling.

And then
another
uneasy thought occurred to her. What if Veers had other motives for
making this
suggestion? Just supposing that he were the
traitor, it would be
a major coup if he could get a large proportion of their forces off the
planet,
leaving the base open to attack, and possibly leading their troops into
ambush.

Trying to block
out
her entirely unsubstantiated suspicions, Mon Mothma asked, "do you
think
that would help? If things are as bad as you've been saying, won't the
conspiracy theorists think that we're sending them into the line of
fire to get
rid of them?"

"That's
possible," Veers admitted. "I hoped the fact that long-term Rebels will
be among the troops we send out would remove those fears from all but
the most
paranoid."

It could work,
she
told herself. Then again, it could also be a disaster. She said, "I
can't
authorise an attack just to improve morale. This will have to be
presented to
the command staff ..." Suddenly, weariness rushed in at her. Presenting
it
to the command staff would mean more endless meetings, considering
Veers'
suggestion from every possible angle, the generals arguing about where
they
should attack, whether it was the right timing, how many troops could
be sent
out without the base itself being put at risk. She almost groaned. Oh,
gods. Her entire life
was spent in command meetings these days. When she eventually died of
old age,
she would have to get her death approved in committee first. That was
always
assuming that she didn't die of stress before old age got to her. She
put her
hands to her forehead, then noticed Veers watching her. Smiling faintly
at him,
she said, "you do know that by the time we finish discussing this in
committee, the trouble will either have blown over or our malcontents
will have
revolted and murdered all of us."

One more time,
the
patented General Veers Twitch That Might Be Interpreted As A Smile made
its
appearance. "You may be right," he said. "But it's been our
victories that have held the New Alliance together. If we can give them
another
victory, we should be able to keep it alive a while longer."

And if
we can't
give them another victory? Mothma thought.
Or, if this whole suggestion is
just a scheme
to finally wipe out the Rebellion ... Damn it,
no, she had absolutely no reason
to think that Veers was their traitor. None except for the fact that
she didn't
like him very much, which wasn't a reason at all.

Of course, if
he was the traitor, that
would give another explanation for why he was so insistent that she
stop
attempting to discover who had framed Piett ...

Stop
it. Looks
like it isn't just Imperials who have a weakness for conspiracy
theories. She said, hoping
the General hadn't deciphered what she was thinking this time, "I'll
call
a meeting. You can explain your concerns to Command and put forward
your
proposal ... "

She was
interrupted
by the bleeping of an incoming message. General Rieekan's visage
appeared on
her computer screen, looking bleary-eyed and harassed. It looked as if
he'd had
even less sleep than she had recently. Of course he'd been awakened the
night
before last for the initial meeting about Piett, but she didn't know
what might
have kept him from sleeping last night, unless there was some
complication with
his pet birdcat's pregnancy.

As if to
confirm
the impression of his lack of sleep, the weary-looking Rieekan rubbed
his hands
over his eyes, then he said, "Simara, are you there? We've got another
problem."

She opened the
channel. "What's wrong, Derrath?" she asked.

He gave an
apologetic smile. "Sorry to spring this on you, but we thought you
should
know right away. Our Communications people have picked up a report from
the
Imperial News Service that ..." his words ran out, and he shook his
head
helplessly. "Well, it's gotta be seen to be believed."

"Can you patch
it through?" Mothma inquired.

Rieekan nodded.
"Here it comes." He grimaced. "Brace yourself."

Rieekan's image
vanished, to be replaced by a scene that Mothma immediately recognised.
It had
been twenty years since she'd stood in the Great Hall of the Imperial
Palace on
Coruscant, and the Palace had still been the Capitol Building then,
housing the
Senate offices. But the Hall itself didn't seem to have changed much,
except
that the banners hanging from the balcony, which had borne the
insignias of all
the planets in the Empire, had been replaced by a much smaller number
of black
banners with the Imperial insignia gleaming on them in silver and blue.

Well, no,
Mothma
realised, something else was different as well. There was an object
like a
museum case at the centre of the Hall, which she had not seen there
before. The
initial shot of the news report was too distant for her to see any more
detail,
except that the Hall was also crammed to bursting with people.

The typically
youthful, characterless voice of an Imperial News Service newsreader
began
chirpily, "and now a recap of our main headlines. The top story today
is
the sensational capture of Darth Vader, former Commander of the
Imperial Fleet.
Almost a year since Vader's defection to the Rebellion, the Lord of the
Sith is
back in the heart of the Empire. Vader was captured yesterday during an
attempt
on the life of Emperor Palpatine. At the Emperor's order, for the
instruction
of all citizens of the Empire, this traitor has been put on public
display in
the Imperial Palace. All day, visitors have been thronging to the
Palace for a
sight of the man who was once our Emperor's closest friend, until
Vader's
hunger for power brought that friendship to its tragic end. Every
subject of
the Empire should make an effort to attend the display, and all
employers who
give their workers leave to visit the Palace will receive government
compensation ... "

The holocam had
been zooming in while the newsreader spoke, but it coquettishly avoided
giving
any clear shots of the entire display case and its occupant. Mothma
caught a
glimpse of a dark, prostrate form, which seemed at first to be
headless, until
she realised with a jolt that Vader's helmet and mask must simply have
been
removed. This was confirmed an instant later when the camera panned and
focused
in on the objects at the captive's feet: a small pedestal on which were
placed
Lord Vader's helmet and his familiar, gleaming black mask, as well as
the Dark
Lord's lightsaber.

As the report
ended, the camera moved on to members of the crowd, focusing on a
wide-eyed
pair of children, a little boy and a girl, the girl being lifted up by
a man in
Imperial uniform to get a better view of Darth Vader, traitor to the
Empire.

The image
winked
out, followed once more by the wan-faced Rieekan. "Really something,
hunh?" Rieekan said feebly.

Mothma nodded.
She
glanced over at the man sitting across the desk from her, and saw
something she
had never expected to see: a completely shocked General Veers.

The General's
mouth, normally so tightly shut, had fallen open. He looked as if
someone had
just punched him in the gut, and he couldn't quite believe that it had
happened.

Cautiously, Mon
Mothma touched his shoulder. She murmured, "General?"

Veers blinked,
and
he shut his mouth. Then he whispered, "bloody hell."

"I
suppose," Mothma said quietly, "now we really have to have a
meeting."

General Veers
nodded
distantly, then turned to face her. He said, "you remember that foreign
war I mentioned just now? I think we may just have found it."

Moff Nevoy
looked
around the room, and said, "this time we can't put it off. Either we do
it
now, or we've lost our chance. For ever."

Most of the men
seated about the living room nodded, their faces showing variations on
the same
depression, hesitation and just plain fear that Nevoy himself was
feeling. Dr.
Hayashida shifted uncomfortably, sitting so close to the edge of the
sofa that
he seemed in immediate danger of falling off. Captain Sandar kept
passing his
cocktail glass from one hand to the other. Colonel Wellaine was holding
one of
the hors-d'ouevres that Nevoy's household droid had distributed
earlier, a small
wooden skewer on which were speared several Narsian prawns and the best
Cantellin olives, but he seemed to have forgotten it. Captain Raby was
glowering at his hands, clasped together in front of him. The only one
of
Nevoy's guests who seemed even partially at ease was Mulcahy, who was
leaning
back in the green leather armchair and looking bored. But his fingers,
Nevoy
noticed, were drumming on the arms of the chair, denying the relaxed
impression
he was attempting to give.

"Gods,"
muttered Captain Sandar, "what a mess."

There was no
arguing with that analysis of the situation. Nevoy sighed. The others
were all
watching him expectantly now, even General Mulcahy. And he couldn't
blame them
for doing so. When it came down to it, Nevoy was the one who had to
make this
decision, never mind that it was a decision he felt completely
unqualified to
make. He was the highest ranking officer here, in fact the highest
ranking
officer on Coruscant, give or take a few retired Grand Moffs who were
in their
dotage. He couldn't just hide, and shift responsibility to someone else
-- no
matter how much he wanted to. If he did back out, one of the others
might take
on the task of leading this, but he knew their chances would be
significantly
diminished. Having the Moff of Coruscant involved almost made their
plans seem
like a legitimate political move, instead of treachery. Almost.

He wondered, do
I really have it in me to do this?

Forcing himself
not
do look away from the others, Nevoy said, "I'll go ahead and make
contact
with Vader, put our proposals to him." He glanced at Dr. Hayashida.
"You're confident you got the comlink installed without being
detected?"

Hayashida
nodded.
"After our discussion this afternoon, I went ahead and smuggled in the
link while I was supervising the replacement of his infusions. It
should avoid
detection."

Captain Raby
frowned thoughtfully, and asked the doctor, "couldn't you remove the
drug
from the infusions? It'd help a lot if we had Vader back in top form.
Hell, he
could just rescue himself."

Dr. Hayashida
grimaced, running a hand through his crew-cut blond hair. "No. I don't
think we can risk that." He gazed around at the assembled officers.
"When someone's as strong in the Force as Vader," he explained,
"other Force users can sense his presence. They'll be able to tell the
difference between Vader with access to the Force, and Vader without
it. If we
phased out the drug, Palpatine would know immediately." And
we'd be
dead,
was the obvious corollary that he didn't need to add.

"So we can't
even just decrease the dosage?" asked Captain Sandar.

"I don't think
so. Not if we don't want to announce to Palpatine what we're up to."

Nevoy said,
"I'm afraid, gentlemen, that it's up to us." And this may be
my
decision, he thought, but I'm damned well not
going to plan everything. "If I'm
going to put our proposals to Vader, it'd be nice to know what our
proposals
are. Do I ask him to arrange amnesty for us with the Rebels?"

"What other
choice have we got?" Captain Raby countered. "I don't much like the
idea of just running away and having the Rebels and the Empire
after
us."

General Mulcahy
spoke up from the depths of his armchair. "This isn't the same
Rebellion
anymore," he pointed out. "Vader's with them now. And many of our
friends, plus the crews of twenty-eight Star Destroyers. There are as
many
Imperials in the Alliance now as there are Rebels."

Wellaine shook
his
head. "We haven't been fighting them for twenty years to go crawling to
them now." He suddenly noticed the hors-d'oeuvre skewer in his hand,
and
stared at it as if it had just materialised there. Looking bemused, he
put the
prawns and olives down on the little plate that he'd left sitting on
the arm of
the sofa.

"We all know
how you feel," Nevoy told him, "but Raby's right, I don't see that we
have a choice. At least if we act now, we've got a chance to influence
the way
things develop. Instead of sitting back and letting everything fall
apart around
us."

Captain Sandar,
with a timidness in his voice that was unusual for him, asked, "are we
sure everything would fall apart? If
Vader were dead, maybe the Rebels would
lose their momentum. Our people might not stay with them. Vader's
execution
could be the salvation of the Empire. And ... for all we know, if we
rescued
him we could be the ones who destroyed it."

Captain Raby
answered viciously, "bugger the Empire."

Everyone stared
at
him.

"I mean
it," he said. "It's Vader we owe our loyalty to, not old mush-brains
the Emperor. Listen, you can all do what you like. But if I don't try
to help
him I'll have to attend the execution, have a last meal at Palpatine's
banquet,
and go home and blast out my brains. That's all there is to it."

"Several
people," Raby said implacably. "I also know 35,000 people who'd be
dead now if Vader hadn't gone back for the Ruthless at Kendahar. He
didn't have to, no one expected him to." Raby's voice got quieter, and
he
looked down at his hands again. "He saved us. If I don't help him now,
I
don't deserve to live."

Watching the
Captain, Nevoy thought, he means it. He thought of
Raby's wife
and sons, on Hamisan. The boys must be seven and ten now, if he was
remembering
correctly. They shouldn't have to find out that their father had turned
his
blaster on himself.

They shouldn't
have
to find out that their father had betrayed the Empire, either.

Dr. Hayashida
cleared his throat, and said, "well, I haven't spent ten years of my
life
as Vader's doctor just to stand by and watch him be murdered."

Hells, thought
Nevoy, have
we actually got a consensus? Well, no,
they didn't really, Wellaine hadn't said
anything recently. Damn it, surely Wellaine wouldn't let Vader die?
Nevoy
thought back to the Battle of Uzal, twenty years ago and more, when he
and
Wellaine had been among the pilots who had won that victory under
Vader's
leadership. He remembered the glow on Pilot Jotun Wellaine's face as he
exclaimed that he would follow Darth Vader anywhere.

Of course, back
then they had trusted Palpatine, too.

Giving Wellaine
a
bit longer to make up his mind, Nevoy asked Captain Sandar, "how much
of
the Guard do you think we can rely on?"

Sandar
considered.
"Enough. A lot of them have served under Vader's command, they'll know
they can trust him more than Palpatine. And I've heard a lot of
muttering about
this damned exhibition. Nobody's happy. When we've decided when we're
going to
strike, I'll probably have to rearrange the rotas a bit to make sure we
can
count on the officers on duty. But, yes. I think enough will follow
us."
His words conjured up uneasy visions which Nevoy was sure were
appearing in the
mind of each man there, of a firefight erupting between factions of the
Palace
Guard. They were taking one hell of a gamble thinking that there
wouldn't be
massive resistance when the men found out that their officers wanted
them to
defect.

Colonel
Wellaine
spoke up, finally, "we can disable the perimeter stations' weapons to
aid
our escape.And I think we should be able to take a good proportion of
the
defence fleet with us."

Nevoy looked
over
at Wellaine, and saw a faint smile on the Colonel's face. He smiled
back,
wanting to say "thank you", but not knowing any way to say it that
wouldn't sound awkward.

Captain Raby
added,
"it makes sense to use the Conquest as our escape
vessel. I'll
answer for the crew. I may have to give a few of them surprise shore
leave, but
most will be with us." He gave a feral grin. "I'd love to see
Palpatine's face when he finds out we've escaped on his own damn barge."

General Mulcahy
interjected, his voice firm and cold, "we can't let him live long
enough
to find out."

This time,
everyone's gaze shifted abruptly to the old General. Nevoy thought how
typical
it was that, of all of them, Mulcahy should be the first to put the
unthinkable
into words.

Mulcahy went
on,
"there's no point in rescuing Vader and letting Palpatine live. We've
got
to be on one side or the other, completely. If Palpatine's dead, the
war can be
over now, give or take
a clean-up operation or two." He smiled in a
predatory fashion. "This war's already gone on twenty years. I'd like
to
see it end before I die." The smile left his face. "Besides," he
continued, looking directly at Nevoy, "some of us here helped to put
Palpatine on his throne. It's only fitting that we should be the ones
to remove
him from it."

Nevoy thought, and
how many lives might have been saved if we'd removed him before? Or if
we'd
never let him become Emperor in the first place?

The
conspirators
looked at each other helplessly. Then Captain Sandar grinned, hit by a
sudden
thought. He said, "we'll have to take out the Imperial Guards, for a
start. That'll really get the men on
our side, if they know they'll get a
chance to massacre the Red Idiots."

Scattered
laughter
sounded around the room. Before anyone else could comment, the door
swished
open and Nevoy's droid, C4T8, appeared.

"I'm sorry to
interrupt, sir," C4T8 announced. "There's been a message from the
Palace. His Majesty the Emperor requires that you attend on him at
once."

Nevoy stared at
the
droid. Then, reluctantly, he looked at his comrades, hating to see the
shock on
their faces. He knew he must be looking as shocked as they were.
Despair and
terror had just shot into him in equal proportions.

Calm, he ordered
himself. You're in charge of this. If you fall apart now, you
can forget all
of it. Might as well just execute Vader yourself.

He smiled
bleakly
as he stood up from his chair. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he
said. "But, ah ... you might be well-advised to leave. This may not be
the
safest place on the planet right now."

"We'll be here
when you get back," agreed Colonel Wellaine, standing up. "After all,
you promised us dinner."

Nevoy nodded.
"You go ahead and eat. Just save me some leftovers." He turned then
and swiftly walked from the room, before his voice failed or his legs
gave out
beneath him.

He took the
lift
the two storeys to the roof, then walked numbly to the hangar where his
c-wing
waited. Inside the little ship, he switched on the autopilot that would
take
him on the brief journey to the Palace. Often he liked to pilot the
c-wing
himself, just to keep his hand in, but not tonight. Tonight he was so
shaken
that he would probably crash.

At
least that
would save me from having to face Palpatine.

You
don't know
that he's found you out, Nevoy told
himself. This could be anything. It
wouldn't be the first time he's dragged you back there out of office
hours to
deal with some minor idiocy. For all he
knew, Palpatine could have had some new
idea for the menu at his Darth Vader is Dead banquet, or decided that
the
stormtroopers would look better in purple, or anything.

Nevoy's hands
were
sweating. And if he doesn't know, he thought, you'd
better
think very hard of something else, or he's
going to find out everything. It would be
just
too damned pathetic if he gave away their plot now, through
broadcasting his
fears to the Emperor. Of course, if Palpatine really wanted to read
Nevoy's
mind, nothing was going to stop him. But, if Nevoy understood the ways
of Force
users properly, then Palpatine could also pick up on his thoughts
through
casual interaction. Rescues and assassination attempts had better not be uppermost
in
his mind.

But what else
was
he going to think about, that would be strong enough to keep their
would-be
palace coup from creeping in?

There was one
obvious choice, anyway. He swallowed, looking emptily out at the lights
of the
traffic flitting past him. Usually, around this time of year, it was
difficult
to keep this particular topic out of his thoughts. He might as well at
least
get some use out of it.

Go
ahead, he told himself. Wallow
in misery. You deserve it.

It had been
five
years. In three and a half weeks from now, it would be the fifth
anniversary of
the Death Star's destruction.

And just over a
month ago, he had got through yet another anniversary of Laram's
birthday.
Marida and the kids had come to visit, and he'd done his best to act
cheerful
and well-adjusted so they wouldn't worry. Can't have
Grand-dad breaking
down, can we? Adults aren't supposed to do that. But he'd still
ended up
crying into his drink, after Marida and the children had gone to bed.
Damn it.
Oh, Gods damn it, he was going to start crying again now, if he wasn't
careful.
At least his plan to distract himself seemed to be working.

Laram Nevoy
would
have been thirty-three years old last month. Instead, he was a few
specks of
space dust orbiting Yavin.

Nevoy clenched
his
fists. He supposed he would have to go to the annual memorial service
yet
again. Gods, he hated them. The first one had helped him, he supposed.
Perhaps.
A little. But after that, each time he went to the service it was like
a door
opening up on more grief than he felt able to live with.

Not, he
admitted,
that the door was ever entirely closed. But most of the time, only a
few
horrible whispers of pain managed to seep through. At the Death Star
Victims'
memorial service, the whispers turned into screams.

And now,
predictably, he'd been appointed to lead the planning committee that
was to
design a fitting monument to the victims of the disaster. Fitting, ha.
How did
you build something out of stone and plastisteel that would make any
difference
to the families of 1,187,000 people?

All right, he
knew,
he was over-reacting. It would make some of
them feel better. It had, in
fact, been too long since the disaster already, there should have been
some
kind of monument constructed sooner. Just having some tangible
acknowledgement
of their loss would help to remind the survivors that they weren't
alone, and
the Empire hadn't forgotten them.

Hasn't
it? What
was our beloved Emperor doing last year, then, when he built a second
Death
Star? Haven't we learned anything?

Stop
that, you
idiot. You're supposed to be avoiding
thoughts of sedition.

His c-wing was
settling onto its usual landing pad, on the level of the Palace that
held
Palpatine's personal chambers. Nevoy fixed an image of Laram's face
firmly in
his mind, and concentrated on feeling heartbroken. Better that than
giving
Palpatine an excuse to plaster him across the walls. Not that the
Emperor
needed an excuse; if he felt like pulverising Nevoy, he would, as
simple as
that.

Nevoy strode
through
the corridors toward Palpatine's audience chamber, his thoughts
replaying that
evening when he had learned that the Death Star was gone. It wasn't
something
he was ever in danger of forgetting. He reached the audience chamber
door, the
Imperial Guards bowed to him in their usual minimal way -- and the door
opened
and Palpatine stepped out toward him.

This time, the
Guards' bows were far deeper. For his part, Nevoy knelt on one knee,
thinking
as his knee sank into the thick carpet that he might have to have his
knees
replaced pretty soon, they definitely weren't what they used to be.

"My
friend," said Palpatine, "walk with me."

Nevoy stood
again
and obeyed, keeping pace one step behind the Emperor. As they walked,
Palpatine
said, without preamble, "I want you to meet one of my guests. Well,
two." He chuckled. "The second is not exactly at his best."

Nevoy thought
it
best not to comment.

"I believe you
have met my first guest before, but this will be under different
circumstances.
You are the first to know, my friend: I am going to adopt her."

Nevoy's pace
momentarily faltered, but he quickly caught up again. Palpatine seemed
to
expect a reply, so he risked the question, "who, Your Majesty?"

"You will
see," said the Emperor, in a gleefully smug tone as if he had just
purchased Nevoy a particularly appropriate Firelord Day present and was
going
to make him wait months to find out what it was.

Palpatine went
on,
"I count on you to make all the arrangements. You will contact my
lawyers
and ensure that all is in order. As for any ceremony, I expect you to
arrange
that in co-operation with her. She should feel that she has a part in
this.
Make her feel at ease. I know I can rely on you. I want you to make
yourself
available to consult with her whenever she wishes."

"Of course,
Your Majesty," said Nevoy, wondering, what in the Hells is
going on?

The Emperor had
now
stopped at the door of one of his guest chambers. He lifted the edge of
one of
the purple wall drapes, and pressed the entry bell. Nevoy tried to hold
back
his surprise at the concept that Palpatine would ever ask to be
admitted
anywhere.

The pause
stretched
out, and Nevoy started to wonder uneasily what would happen if whoever
it was
didn't open the door. Just as he had clenched his fists again, the
nails
digging into his palms, the door slid open.

And Nevoy found
out
who Palpatine's guest was.

She was
standing
just inside the door, wearing a long, silver dress that shimmered like
an ocean
in the sunlight. The dress had a low, rounded neckline, and an opal and
pearl
necklace nestled at the hollow of her throat. The sleeves of her dress
were
long and flowing, but translucent, and he could see her slender arms
appearing
ghost-like through them. Nevoy realised that she looked much too thin;
if she
were one of his daughters he would be worried sick about her.

Her hair was
coiled
at the back of her head in one of her trademark hairdos, but little
else about
her seemed the same as he remembered. Her face was older and
inexpressibly more
tired. She was no longer the wide-eyed teenager on all the Wanted
posters, who
for five years had been among the most hated enemies of the Empire:
Princess
Leia Organa, the outlawed Senator from Alderaan.

Her solemn gaze
turned to Nevoy. "Of course," she said simply. Naturally, being a
politician, that was what she would say in any case. As he recalled,
they had
only met once, when Nevoy had addressed a Senate sub-committee of which
the
Princess had been a member. At the moment, he couldn't even remember
what the
sub-committee had been on. Something military. That narrowed it down a
lot.

Princess Leia
stepped aside and gestured for them to enter the room. Nevoy followed
Palpatine
into the richly-appointed living room of the guest quarters, and the
three of
them stood there, Nevoy and the Princess looking uncertain what to do
now, and
the Emperor looking characteristically pleased with himself.

Then a
distraction
was provided. Nevoy caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and
turned to
see a young blond man, dressed in typical desert planet style of white
tunic
and cross-gartered beige trousers, crouching on the floor beside the
large,
luxuriant sofa. Nevoy had to blink and look again to assure himself
that those
really were a colouring book and a wide selection of crayons spread out
on the
floor in front of him.

"Luke,"
Princess Leia said quickly, "it's all right. Go back to your colouring.
These gentlemen just want to talk with me, they won't stay long, I
promise."

Nevoy found
himself
staring like an idiot. If Palpatine had decided to kill him now, he
might not
even have noticed.

Luke? he thought.
Fifty Hells, that's Luke Skywalker!

The rage and
hate
that welled up in him were so strong that he even forgot to wonder why
Luke
Skywalker had a colouring book.

Distantly, he
heard
Emperor Palpatine laugh. Palpatine remarked conversationally, "you may
not
be aware, my dear, our friend Moff Nevoy's son died on the first Death
Star. I
don't believe that he's fond of our little Luke."

The words
served to
instil some sense of control back into Nevoy's mind. No wonder
Palpatine had
brought him here. A little evening's entertainment, watching Nevoy
break down
and try to slaughter the killer of his son. He realised that Princess
Leia had
stepped toward him, and put her hand on his arm. As if that would do
any good
if he did try to kill Skywalker. He turned his head, not looking at
either the
Princess or the Hero of the Rebellion, and heard himself say coldly,
"don't worry. I won't hurt him."

Then the Hero
of
the Rebellion said in whimpering, little-kid tones, "Aunt Beru, that
man
doesn't like me."

Amazed, Nevoy
turned back to face Skywalker. He thought, who in the Frozen
Hell is Aunt
Beru?

"Of course he
likes you, Luke," said Princess Leia, in falsely cheerful tones. Her
hand
closed tighter around Nevoy's arm as she said tensely, "don't you?"

"Uh, yes, of
course," Nevoy said obediently. He felt as if the universe had just
fallen
apart around him and re-assembled itself inside-out.

Palpatine was
smirking, Leia Organa's fingers were digging into his arm, and Luke
Skywalker
was staring at him as if he were a rancor on the rampage. The silence
stretched
out painfully until, out of desperation, Nevoy asked, "what are you
colouring? May I see it?"

Skywalker eyed
him
warily, then he sat down again and picked up the colouring book. Nevoy
glanced
at Princess Leia, who hesitated, then let go of his arm and nodded, her
eyes
not meeting his. She was biting her lower lip, and looked on the verge
of
tears. Nevoy crossed to Skywalker and knelt down beside him, taking
care not to
step on any of the crayons. Still not seeming quite convinced that
Nevoy wasn't
some ravenous monster, Skywalker held the colouring book out to him.

The book was
open
at a TIE-bomber, on one page, and a TIE-interceptor opposite it. It was
the
interceptor which Skywalker had chosen to colour. He'd obviously been
careful
to keep within the lines, and had only failed in a couple of places.

"That's very
well done," said Nevoy, "you must have worked hard on it." He
decided not to comment on the purple, orange and blue colour
combination on the
interceptor, or the exceedingly bright yellow uniform of the pilot
standing in
front of it.

Skywalker
watched
him a moment longer, then smiled.

Now
what? Nevoy did not
exactly fancy sitting here and colouring a TIE-bomber with Luke
Skywalker the
mass murderer. The developmentally challenged mass murderer,
apparently. Nevoy
said, hoping that he remembered accurately who Skywalker seemed to
think
Princess Leia was, "I've got to talk with ... your aunt, now. But I'd
like
to see what you colour next."

Luke Skywalker
nodded, and Nevoy stood up and went back to the Emperor and the
Princess,
cautiously picking his way through the minefield of crayons. Leia
Organa, who
had watched the encounter anxiously, whispered to Nevoy, "he isn't
usually
like this."

You're
kidding, thought Nevoy. I
thought he had his colouring book with him when he blew up the Death
Star.

"Leia,"
said the Emperor, returning to the stated purpose of his visit, "Moff
Nevoy will be in charge of the arrangements for the ceremony of
adoption. You
can discuss it with him, I want to be sure you're happy with every
aspect of
it. I was thinking of next Halanday for the ceremony, will that be all
right
with you?"

"I -- "
the Princess began, then she managed to cut off whatever she'd been
going to
say. "Yes. I think so."

"Good. Well,
then, I'll leave you two to get acquainted. I'm sure you'll be great
friends. I
can always rely on Moff Nevoy's help, I know he'll be a good friend to
you." While Nevoy was digesting the news that Palpatine could always
rely
on his help, the Emperor raised his voice and said, "good night, Luke.
I'll see you tomorrow."

Nevoy looked
over
to see Luke Skywalker's form tense as he hunched over the colouring
book. The
young man stopped colouring, but he did not look up.

Emperor
Palpatine
left the room with a last beaming smile for all of them.

Nevoy watched
his
departure with envy. Not that he would ever choose to be in Palpatine's
company
when he didn't have to be, but this wasn't much better.Two of the most
notorious enemies of the Empire, without whom the Rebellion might not
even
exist today, and one of them, apparently, entirely out of his mind.
Nevoy was
tempted just to leave, but his usual dread of Palpatine got the better
of him.
The Emperor expected them to plan this bloody adoption ceremony. He
would
probably not be best pleased if Nevoy were to bugger off.

Grimly, Nevoy
turned back to Leia Organa, and the two of them stood staring at each
other.

She winced, and
a
pained little smile twisted her mouth. "You don't want to know," she
said.

No, I
probably
don't. "He's really -- adopting you."

She nodded. The
smile had vanished. "And Luke."

"Ah."

"It's simple,
really," she said, her tone suggesting that it was anything but. "We
were captured, and he ... hurt Luke, and I'm afraid that if I don't do
what he
wants, he'll hurt Luke more. That's all."

"I see."

She put one
hand to
her forehead, suddenly looking as if she might collapse at any second.
"Please, arrange whatever you think is appropriate for the -- um, the
ceremony. I really couldn't care less."

"Of
course." He glanced longingly at the door, then said, "look, though,
I have to ask. About the timing -- I mean, do you think His Majesty
will want
us to schedule it for the end of the evening, after the banquet and the
fireworks? Or earlier, before the -- execution?"

The Princess
frowned at him. "Execution?" she asked sharply.

"Yes. You
didn't know? Next Halanday's the day that Lord Vader is scheduled to be
executed."

Nothing could
have
prepared Nevoy for Princess Leia's reaction.

For a very
long,
chilling moment she simply stared at him. The sudden pallor of her face
shocked
him, although he would hardly have imagined over these past five years
that he
would ever feel concerned for the welfare of Leia Organa.

Then she seemed
to
shatter. She turned abruptly away from him, bringing her hands up to
her face,
and she broke into sobs.

He thought, my
Gods. This is not real.

It was,
apparently,
at least real enough for Luke Skywalker to notice it, although Nevoy
was not
convinced that that said much for the situation's connection to
reality.
Skywalker jumped to his feet and ran to the Princess through the crayon
field.
He began, "Aunt Beru --"

Princess Leia
screamed, "Luke, go away! Stay away from me!"

Luke Skywalker
cringed. Nevoy did not blame him, either. Deciding that whatever he
did, it was
better than just standing here, Nevoy walked swiftly to Skywalker and
gripped
the younger man's shoulder. "Luke," he said, "she doesn't want
to talk right now. She'll be fine, everything will be fine, I think you
should
just go away for a little while. Is there somewhere you can go? Your
bedroom?"

Skywalker
nodded,
his blue eyes very wide. "Is she okay?" he whispered. "What's
the matter with her?"

"Okay,"
said Skywalker, in a tiny, scared voice. He hurried away to one of the
adjoining rooms, pausing only briefly to pick up his colouring book.

Leia Organa was
still sobbing. And the sound was absolutely terrifying.

Nevoy did not
think
he'd ever heard anything like it. Not even at the first Death Star
memorial
service, when the horror was still all too fresh. People had broken
down then,
certainly. There had been no lack of sobbing as background to the
speeches and
the prayers and the music. But even then, they'd had a few days to get
used to
their loss. They were crying out of grief, not out of raw, bleeding
anguish.

This was the
sound
of someone whose entire life was being ripped away.

Of course, he
reminded himself, she did have her life
ripped away. She's from Alderaan.

But why in all
the
Hells was she crying now? Because Darth Vader was going to die? The
very idea
was ludicrous.

All right, so
they'd been officially on the same side this past year. Surely that
wouldn't
have made Organa forget that Vader was her deadly enemy? She ought to
be doing
a victory dance right now, not sounding as if she was dying with him.

He thought, maybe
the Princess has become Lord Vader's lover? And then he
thought, that's
disgusting. With an imagination like that, you shouldn't be a Moff, you
ought
to be directing porn holos.

Belatedly, he
realised that standing here like a pillock while she was sobbing her
guts out
was just about the height of ungentlemanly behaviour. He fished in his
breast
pocket for his handkerchief, thinking ruefully that his father's
teachings were
finally paying off. Years of impromptu pocket inspections, and lectures
about
how a gentleman must never be without his handkerchief, had all been
justified
today. Maybe he ought to write to his father and tell him. Dear
Dad, today I
was able to offer my handkerchief to a princess in distress.

He stepped
toward
her, awkwardly holding out the handkerchief. "Here. Take this.
Please," he said.

She managed to
reach out blindly and grab the handkerchief as he thrust it into her
hand. She
kept sobbing. Nevoy said, in a louder than normal voice in order to be
heard
over her sobs, "look, I'll leave if you want me to. Do you want me to
send
someone to you? Is there something I can do?"

Princess Leia
looked up at him, and said harshly, "no!" No to what? he wondered. He
couldn't quite restrain a shudder at the sight of her. With her
tear-reddened
eyes and her gaunt, pallid face, she looked for all the galaxy like the
Resana
ice demon. If she'd reached out then and dragged him into the Frozen
Hell, he
wouldn't have been surprised.

Her sobs were
gradually slowing. She had crumpled the now sodden handkerchief into a
ball.
Nevoy began again, "listen, what do you want me to do -- "

Then he
recoiled,
bumping into the arm of the sofa and almost falling on to it. Horror
raced
through him; it was all he could do not to run from the room.

Force
users! he thought. Gods
defend us!

She was a Force
user.No wonder Palpatine wanted to adopt her.

Nevoy had felt
her
touch his mind. She'd been reaching into him, reading everything. For a
moment,
he thought he was going to throw up. At least with Palpatine, he knew
to expect
this sort of thing. He hadn't expected it from a petite little creature
younger
than his own daughters, who might be a cold-blooded killer but who he
still
remembered as the rosy, fresh faced junior senator who had always
seemed to
think that she could single-handedly change the galaxy.

Suddenly, her
demonic aspect seemed to vanish. She looked almost like a normal young
woman
who'd been crying, red eyed and shiny nosed and looking at him with a
combination of pain and remorse. "I'm sorry," she said softly.

Sorry
for what, he wondered. For
crying, or for digging into my mind like it was your personal garden
patch? She must be new at
this Force business, if that was what she was apologising for. She'd
learn soon
enough that consciences were hang-ups which only people without the
Force had
to live with.

"You don't
want him to die," she said, staring at him with an intensity that made
him
think his impression of her as a demon hadn't been so wild after all.
"Vader. You don't want him to die. I felt it."

I know
you did, he thought, I felt
you feel
it. Stay out of my mind, you horrible little bitch.

Apparently
she hadn't been in his mind at that moment, that or she didn't care
what he
thought of her, for she made no reaction to his thought. "You don't
want
him to," she insisted again. "You can't let him."

"I -- "
Nevoy began, thinking, oh, Gods. Now that she's read it in my
mind, maybe
Palpatine will read it in hers.

"Please,"
she said wildly, suddenly reaching out and grabbing his hands. She was
still
clutching his handkerchief, and it pressed cold and wet between them.
"Please. You've got to help him. I don't know what I can do. I'll try,
I'll try to help him, but I don't know how. As long as Palpatine's got
Luke ...
I don't what to do, I don't know how to save them both. Please! Please
help
him! You may be his only hope."

Nevoy couldn't
think of any words in response. Feeling like he was moving in slow
motion, he
managed to detach his hands from hers and from the soaking handkerchief.

Princess Leia
said
again, in a hollow whisper, "you can't let him die."